Low's eyes stayed on mine as she unzipped her jeans and stepped out of them, she took off her sweater, and peeled out of her T-shirt, standing in front of me, then, in nothing but a matching bra and underwear, deep indigo in color, lacy, revealing, provocative. My hands fisted at my sides and my heart thundered at the sight of her clad thus, tantalizing, lushly beautiful, dizzyingly perfect, a vision of pale cream skin and freckles, delicacy and strength, curves and softness. I wanted her. My hands yearned to slide over her skin.
"Put on the shirt, please," I whispered, my throat clogged. "Before my ability to resist you is depleted."
Moving slowly, as if reluctantly, Low slid the T-shirt over her head and it dropped into place, the hem hanging at the tops of her thighs, only just hiding the indigo lace of her underwear.
Once changed, Low sat on the edge of the bed. "You ready?"
No. I wasn't. I was worried my control would slip. My desire was an inferno inside me, my need for her a volcanic pressure inside me. We both wore so little--mere moments and we could be naked together. Touching.
I swallowed hard, tried to pretend I wasn't hard as a rock inside my shorts--which was clearly visible, something I knew Low saw. I sat on the edge of the bed, swung my legs over, and lay down on my back, stiff and tense. My feet nudged against Low's thighs, and my hands were pillowed under my head.
She sighed, and crawled across the bed to lay beside me.
A foot separated us.
My heart was beating so loudly I was certain she could hear it.
After only a moment, she sat up with a hiss of irritation. "I can't sleep in a bra."
I watched, unable to help myself, as she slid her arms out of the sleeves and let the shirt hang loosely around her neck, reaching up behind her back to unclasp the bra, shrugging out of the undergarment and tossing it aside onto her pile of clothing. For a moment, then, her breasts were bare, hanging heavy and pale and spattered with freckles I longed to count and to kiss. Then she threaded her arms through the sleeves, and the shirt fell back into place.
She lay back down with a sigh. "Better."
I could only swallow, teeth grinding, and work furiously at ignoring my erection.
More moments of silence.
"Xavier?" Low asked, her voice not quite a whisper, hesitant, questing.
"Yes?
"Can I...?" She rolled to her side and shimmied closer to me, lifting her head and settling it onto the hollow between my shoulder and chest, one her hands resting on my chest near her face. "Is this okay?"
Her scent filled me; her warmth billowed against me, the silk of her skin brushed against mine in a dozen tingling points of contact. Something inside my chest expanded--a metaphysical expansion, a swelling of some nebulous but fiery emotion I had no name for.
"Yes," I murmured, wrapping my arms around her, one at her shoulders and the other around her waist. "As long as this is okay with you."
"It's perfect," she whispered.
Even beyond watching the show with her, beyond being naked and exploring her body and tasting her and exploding from her touch, this moment, merely holding her...
This was a golden moment--
It was one of those memories that seem limned in a golden light, shimmering and perfect forevermore. My most potent golden moment was a memory of being three or perhaps four years old, with my mother, walking on the docks. It was raining and we were both soaked, but we were laughing and splashing in puddles. I remember her black hair wet against her spine and her green eyes dancing with laughter, and her hand in mine. I was wearing red fireman rain boots.
This, holding Low in my arms...whatever happened next, I knew I would remember this always. A golden moment, more perfect than any other.
Slowly, her breathing evened out, and she went limp against me, fingers twitching against my chest now and then.
I lay awake long after she was asleep, inking as much of this memory into my soul as I could. Unwilling to sleep, or miss any of this feeling. Unwilling to face reality, which awaited tomorrow. Wanting only to abide in this perfect affectionate warmth as long as possible, Low's breath on my chest, a soft girlish snore, her breasts smushed softly against my ribs, a thigh over mine.
"You have to leave tomorrow," I whispered, "because if you don't, I'll fall in love, and then you'll break me completely."
12
Harlow
* * *
I didn't want to wake up. God, I felt so comfortable. So warm. Every molecule in my being felt...perfect. There was a golden warmth on my face, something solid and warm and smooth under my cheek. A heartbeat thumping gently, rhythmically, steadily.
But now that I was enveloped in this warm beautiful floating happiness, I didn't want to fall back asleep either. I just wanted to float here, enjoying this.
Had I ever been this perfect?
Sensations intruded into my awareness, one by one: the solidness under my cheek and the heartbeat in my ear melded with an arm across my shoulders, and then I felt a hand on my left buttock, resting naturally, easily; I heard a breath, a low sound from somewhere above my head, and then I felt a faint touch of that breathing on my hair; my thigh was draped casually over a muscled leg.
A man.
Strong. Gentle. Warm, and solid. Holding me in his arms, cradling me in a protective cocoon I never, ever wanted to leave.
Full awareness slammed into me like a lightning bolt--Xavier. His family. Crying. The tourists, the photographs.
Of me.
Kissing Xavier.
Hiding behind him.
Probably with puffy eyes and swollen lips.
Posted on the Internet.
I heard a familiar sound, then, and my heart sank and went cold at once--I heard voices, a thunderous din of them, shouting questions and recording clips.
The pap were here.
I've brought them down upon Xavier and his brothers and their women.
I wonder if they have any idea what's about to hit them, now that the world at large has gotten a glimpse of those eight men, each more gorgeous than the last.
I slipped out of Xavier's arms and tiptoed to the window, which looked out over the street and the docks beyond it. Standing to one side of the window, I edged carefully around the edge of the frame until I could peek out.
Fuck.
It was a full-court press, at least a hundred of them, photographers and reporters and video camera teams, all clustered around the entrance to Badd's Bar and Grill.
I rolled away from the window and put my back to the wall, buried my face in my hands, and groaned.
"Low?" Xavier's voice, sleepy. "What is it?"
"The paparazzi are here."
"The what?" he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
His hair was mussed and sticking up in a million directions, his eyes were half-closed, and he rubbed them with his fists, then stretched, feline and languorous, making a moaning sound that shot straight to my core.
I forced my eyes away from his abs and turned away from him to hide the hardened nubs of my nipples protruding against my thin borrowed T-shirt.
"The paparazzi. Reporters. Photographers," I answered, and began gathering my clothes.
"Why are they here?" He was still half-asleep, and adorable and delicious and sexy all at once.
"Because those tourists last night posted photos of me, and now everyone knows I'm here."
He blinked twice, and then seemed to hear the noise for the first time and padded on bare feet over to the window.
"Stay to one side," I cautioned. "Don't let them see you."
"Why?"
I laughed, somewhat bitterly. "You don't want them to get any more photos of you than you can help. The less they see of you, the less they know of you, the better."
He glanced at me, and then turned his gaze out the window, standing to one side as I'd suggested. "I don't understand."
I sighed. "They're going to ask questions. They'll get your email address, your phone number. They'll
stand out there asking questions and taking pictures and blocking the entrance and scaring away customers. They'll write speculative stories about you full of lies. They'll make up stories if there aren't any to find. By now, those photos of me and you, from last night, will have sparked a hundred different articles. Probably speculating that you've gotten me pregnant, or that we secretly eloped, or...who knows. They come up with the craziest shit." I was sitting on the side of his bed, my clothes in my lap, idly toying with the strap of my bra. "Now that they know who you are, things won't be the same. Eventually, if you keep your head down and don't give them a story, they'll forget about you. But in the meantime, things are about to get a little crazy for you guys."
He didn't answer, just stared out the window at the crowd of paparazzi.
"Xavier..." I started, but didn't really have anything to say. Or at least, nothing I knew how to say.
He turned his eyes to mine. "Yes, Low?"
I shook my head. "I don't know. Just...I guess I'm sorry I brought this on you."
"They will go away, won't they?"
I shrugged. "I mean...eventually? But how long can I hide in here? I have to leave eventually."
He sighed. "I suppose you do." He moved away from the window, began withdrawing clothes from his bureau. "There is a back door through the kitchen. We can sneak out that way and hopefully get you onto your boat."
I nodded. "Okay."
There was a huge weight in the air, an unacknowledged tension; if I was leaving, this was the beginning of goodbye. The end. And, as he'd said it would, having slept together, having woken up in his arms, had only confused my heart.
Or, rather, not confused, but...intensified the feelings I had for him.
Shit, I couldn't afford to have feelings for Xavier. I barely knew him. We hadn't even had sex. We were from different worlds, and he had said in so many words that he couldn't handle a relationship with me--and that was before he knew I was a celebrity...and he still had no real understanding of what that meant. Not really.
He stepped into tight black jeans and shrugged on a black T-shirt emblazoned with a logo of some kind--some obscure company I'd never heard of. Socks, combat boots, and a quick finger-combing of his hair, and he was ready.
I laughed. "Boys. Throw on whatever, messy hair, and you still look sexy as fuck. Wish it was that easy for me."
He moved for the door. "I will give you privacy to change."
"Why? You've seen me naked already, and more than once."
He stood with his hand on the knob, not turning to look at me, his voice low, almost a growl. "Because nothing has changed, Low. You're leaving. There is no us. And if I don't leave right now, I will do something which will only make this even more impossible than it already feels."
"Like what, Xavier?" I asked, knowing the answer, wanting the answer, and hating the answer as much as I craved it.
"Like kiss you. Like rip that T-shirt apart so I can see your beautiful, perfect, naked body. Like put my face between your thighs and make you feel good again." He thudded his forehead against the door, hard. "You've infected all that I am with all that you are, Harlow Grace, and now you have to leave, because I do not know how to do this with you, and you cannot do this with me, and I fucking want you with a power that terrifies me down to my very blood and bones."
I swallowed hard, mouth dry, heart hammering, core throbbing, nipples aching, hands twisted into knots, eyes swimming. "Xavier--"
"I lied," he interrupted. "I would not rip that shirt off of you. I would remove it carefully, because that is my second-favorite shirt."
I glanced down at the faded gray cotton. "Don't leave, Xavier."
"I'm not--you are." He stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.
Fuck.
Fuck!
Why did this hurt so much? What was wrong with me? Why did I feel like letting Xavier walk out that door was a mistake?
I couldn't afford this. I couldn't afford the attention. I couldn't afford the drama surrounding Xavier. I was supposed to be recuperating and gaining fresh energy to focus on my career. I was supposed to be hiding in the middle of nowhere, writing my screenplay and reading and tanning and doing yoga, not falling for a tall, dark, handsome, Alaskan super-genius with high-functioning autism and a perfect body and a smile that could slay me and eyes that saw into my soul and lips that set me on fire and hands that owned me.
Falling for? Or had fallen for?
It didn't matter which, though, did it?
I changed into my clothes, folded his T-shirt and put it on his pillow. The robot he'd given me was on the desk, and I picked it up, looking at it.
His talent was incredible--the device he'd created was simple, beautiful, and complex all at once, a perfect little creation that was utterly unique.
Just like him.
I clutched the disc in my hand and exited his room, found him waiting for me in the kitchen. Bast was there as well, with the redheaded woman leaning up against him, her arm around his waist and her palm on his chest.
When I came out, they all looked to me.
"We've got a fuckin' circus out there," Bast said.
"I know, I saw," I said. "I'm sorry. Once I leave, they should leave you guys alone."
Dru snorted. "Yeah, not likely." She grabbed a cell phone off the counter behind her, unlocked it, tapped at it, scrolled a moment, and then handed it to me.
I took it, reading the headline on a gossip blog with several million regular readers: Harlow Grace spotted in Alaska in the arms of a BADD boy! All the dramatic details inside!
I skimmed the article quickly--it was all rife, rank speculation and made up nonsense, but it featured several photographs. The first one was of Xavier and me, lips locked, his hand squeezing my ass, my fingers knotted in his hair. The second was me peering out from behind him, looking startled and scared and angry. The third was me standing out in front, facing the photographer--this one was a close-up, a little grainy from the zoom on the cell phone camera, but it showed me in all my angst-ridden glory--it was obvious I'd been crying, and my lips were swollen from kissing Xavier, and the expression on my face was...not flattering.
There were several more photos of Xavier's brothers, and after scrolling through the comments; I realized people were as thirsty for more of his brothers as they were for news of me.
I handed the phone back to her. "I didn't mean to bring this on you guys. I really am sorry."
"We can't open with that parade of douchebags out there," Bast said.
"You'll see an uptick in business once I leave, though."
"Yeah, an uptick in women coming to paw our men," the redhead said. "And there's enough of that around here as it is."
"There're photos of all of us, Dru," Bast said. "Not just me and the boys."
The redhead, Dru, just huffed. "All I can say is, this is a mess."
Dru's phone dinged, and she read the message, and then groaned. "Another article just posted, with more photos."
At that moment, the door leading down to the bar opened, and Zane stomped through, a wailing baby on his hip and a pissed-off expression on his face. Behind him was an equally pissed-off blonde woman, carrying a diaper bag and a sippy cup of juice. Behind her was Bax with the black-haired woman I thought was named Eva, and...then everyone seemed to arrive, too many names and faces to keep straight.
"I feel like I've been violated," Zane said, shooting a nasty look at me. "How the fuck you deal with that shit on a daily basis is beyond me."
"You'd think they'd have respect for the fact that we're carrying a damn baby!" the blonde said, taking the angry child and trying to comfort him. "Monsters."
Most people thought getting their fifteen minutes of fame would be fun--this poor family was learning otherwise the hard way.
I shot a glance at Xavier. "Where's that back door? I need to leave. You guys don't deserve this."
"Hey, I don't mind going out there and posing for a few shots," Bax said. "May
be I'll get on Muscle and Fitness or something."
"Don't be an ass," Eva said, laughing. "This isn't funny."
"I dunno, it kind of is," Bax said. "I mean, who'd'a thunk it'd be Xavier that would hook up with a hot-as-fuck A-list actress and cause a media circus outside the bar?"
"Excuse me?" Eva snapped, her voice dangerous. "Hot as fuck, huh?"
Bax just rolled his eyes at her. "Don't gimme that shit, Evie-babe. The woman is beautiful. That's just an objective fact. You know I only got eyes for you."
"No need to be crass about it," she muttered.
Bax just eyed her. "Crass? Evangeline, have you even met me? That was not a crass statement, not by my standards."
"I do not appreciate the insinuation behind the term hook up," Xavier said, his quiet voice cutting through the chatter. "That's not what it was."
"My bad, bro," Bax said. "But you did hook up, didn't you?"
Xavier moved to stand in front of his brother. "I will thank you to drop the subject, please, Baxter," he said, his voice harder than I'd ever heard it.
Bax's eyebrows rose up. "Whoa, little bro has claws, huh? Hey man, no harm no foul, okay? Consider it dropped. Didn't mean to push."
Xavier exhaled, backing away. "Thank you."
I moved to stand in front of him, catching his eyes. "Xavier? The door? I should go. The sooner I get out of here, the sooner they'll leave."
"I thought the idea was to sneak out so they didn't know you were gone?" Xavier said.
I breathed a laugh. "That's the idea, yes. The reality, I'm afraid, will be...somewhat different."
"Should we, like, give them a statement or something, to distract them while you guys make a break for it?" Bax asked.
"That's not a bad idea," I said. "You don't have to, but if you distracted them it might give us a head start. If you do, don't tell them anything real or true. Just...bullshit them."
"My father is a politician," Eva said, "and he always maintained the best way to deal with unwanted press was to answer the question you wanted to answer rather than the question that was asked."
"Wanna play press junket, Eva?" Bax asked. "Could be fun."
Eva sighed. "It's less fun than you would imagine, actually, having attended several with my father." She stood up, exhaled a long breath, and then her demeanor shifted, her expression smoothing and going blank, serene, a practiced, polished smile on her face; she'd clearly had experience with publicity before. "But yes, I'd better go with you, if only to protect you from yourself. Who knows what trouble you'd get into without me."
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